Driver's Ed
by Flameses
Summary: Fanfictionalized retellings of some of the many stories I hear in driver's ed. DP style! Mainly humorous...
1. The Mask

**Yo! **

**This is hopefully the first of some little anecdotes about Danny and the crew taking Driver's Ed. These stories are inspired by the driver's ed class I'm currently taking. The teacher is pretty good at getting the information to us, but every 15-30 minutes he starts going on and on about different things he's seen an done** **while teaching driver's ed, or, how he says it, driver ed. He's been teaching "driver ed" for like 40 something years. Probably more. Ah, well, that means there are many more stories! **

**So the disclaimer for this is: Coach Baldwin's stories are the inspiration for these. Mmkay? :)**

* * *

**_The Mask_**

_(A Fanfictionalized Retelling)_

**_

* * *

_**William Lancer sighed, watching as a good fraction of Casper High's freshman class climbed over the strenuous hill towards the slightly dilapidated building.

Said building was the Driver's Ed classroom, and was at least a half-century old. Thinking about it, he wasn't completely sure how old it was. It had certainly been missing a few bricks and in need of a new coat of paint when he had been a Casper High student himself. Scratching his beard (a habit that usually appeared when he was deep in thought), he realized that that had been... a while ago. Maybe it was more than fifty-some years old.

He hated to admit his age, but, ah, well.

The shouts of the students passing him pulled him out of his reverie. Looking down at his watch and then at the broken clock inside the building (which he had forgotten to get fixed, again), he realized that it was almost a quarter past 3 o'clock.

While he kept a strict policy concerning Driver's Education, this was these particular students' first day. They couldn't really be expected to know of said policy, but he was sure that Principal Ishiyama had announced that they were NOT to be late...

He smiled and made as if to close the door to the whitewashed building, chuckling under his breath as the last few stragglers sprinted into the room. Stepping inside the classroom himself, he then allowed the creaky door to slam shut.

Walking up through the tightly packed desks, he raised his voice over the clamor of the students.

"Everyone, take a seat," he said firmly. The freshmen scrambled to find seats closest to their friends. "Don't bother," he said to a group of giggling girls, who were all two to a seat. "These won't be your desks for the next ten classes. I'll assign seats in alphabetical order. That's right, Mr. Abbott. Alphabetical order," he repeated in response to a particularly loud groan from the back of the room. "Which means that I can keep an eye on you. Front and center!"

As he went to remove the class list from the old desk drawer, he couldn't help but cough at the large dust cloud that arose. Looking under said desk, he shook his head at the thick cobwebs.

_When was the last time that man had cleaned up in here?_ he wondered. _Considering that the Driver's Ed building was separate from the rest of the school, the lazy janitor probably didn't consider it his duty... _

Picking up the class list after recovering from his little coughing fit, he began to pace about the classroom, tapping on desks and calling out names. Once the task had been completed, he tried to do the impossible. This failed every time, but hey. A guy had to try. Raising his voice again, he tried to move everyone to the appropriate desk in an orderly fashion. It, of course, failed. Everyone, while not enthused about the new seating, jumped over desks and other classmates to get to their desks first.

"Everyone, settle down!" Mr. Lancer bellowed. The students immediately froze up in their seats.

Hearing a squeal and a laugh from the other end of the room, he whipped his head around just in time to catch Mikey quickly remove a mask and attempt to stow it in his book bag. "Now, there, Mr. Stevens, what was that you frightened poor Ashley with?" he questioned.

He smirked as he watched the pimply teens mind scramble to come up with a comeback, of sorts. "No- nothing, Mr. Lancer, sir," he squeaked.

"Mr. Stevens, come up here and hand me the mask." Mikey hung his head down and proceeded to do so. "Honestly, Mr. Stevens," Mr. Lancer continued, "Halloween was a month ago. I expect you not to disrupt my class again." Mikey nodded, handed him the mask, and quickly walked back to his seat.

Holding the mask in his hands, Mr. Lancer studied the mask. It was fairly realistic- an old man's face, with a large gash across its visage. _Must of cost the poor kid quite a bit of allowance,_ thought Mr. Lancer. Looking up at Mikey, he said, "Come get this after class, Mr. Stevens, all right?" With that, he put said mask in one of his desk drawers.

"Now then," he said, beginning the class. "Let me lay down a few rules. If you break any of them, you will be removed from Driver's Ed. Rule One: If you're late, without good reason, you're out. Class begins at 3:15. School ends at three, so that gives you sufficient time to walk up here. If you have to talk to a teacher, do it before school. Rule Two..."

The class went on. Mikey forgot the mask, or else just didn't care to get it back. The thirty-hour class had ended, after a few weeks. Mr. Lancer forgot about the mask, too, until his next class, in January.

--_--_--

Mr. Lancer looked over this month's list.

Dash Baxter.

Paulina Sanchez.

Kwan Li.

Star Johnson.

The popular a-listers.

Then, he had the opposite end of the spectrum, in the opinion of many.

Samantha Manson.

Tucker Foley.

And, Daniel Fenton.

Although, it was not also his opinion. William Lancer knew what these three semi-unpopular teens did. How they had saved everyone, time and time again. Particularly Mr. Fenton. They had come to him with a secret shortly after they had taken the CAT, and Mr. Lancer had sworn never to tell a soul, to carry it to the grave, and so on

--_--_--

It was shortly before one of the January classes that Mr. Lancer had been cleaning out his desk. Opening a drawer, he rediscovered the mask.

Remembering the last episode of NCIS he had seen, he came up with a plan. A prank. It was very unlike him, but he just had to do it.

Now, Daniel had arrived early this afternoon. Mr. Lancer called him over.

"Mr. Lancer?" Danny asked, a little confused.

"Mr. Fenton-"

"Danny."

"Danny, can I ask you a favor?"

"What kind of favor?" Danny asked, a little suspicious.

"It's just a little prank," Mr. Lancer said.

Danny cocked his head. "I'm listening."

Mr. Lancer didn't have to bend down far to whisper his plot into Danny's ear. _Watership Down_, the boy was shooting up fast! A wide grin spread upon Danny's face as he was let in on the plan.

"I'd love to help," he said.

"All right," Mr. Lancer said. "Take my long black overcoat and float a little so you're tall enough-"

"I'm tall enough!" objected the lanky teen.

"Almost, but I still have an inch or so on you. Anyway, peek in through that window. When you see me scratch my head, come on in."

Danny's grin went even wider as he went invisible. He took both the mask and the overcoat and walked through the wall, to the outside. He changed into his ghost form to make things easier and donned the overcoat and mask. Still invisible, he peeked through the window as class began.

--_--_--

Mr. Lancer glanced at the window, knowing that the boy was there, invisible.

"Class," he announced, "I have some very important news to tell you." When they quieted down, he continued. "There's a man in this area who's escaped from prison. He's a convicted felon and he's killed three people. A policeman tried to apprehend him yesterday, but all he managed to do was slash him across the face. So, be on the lookout on you way home for an old man with a gash across his face, wearing a black overcoat. He's in the area..."

As he continued on and on, he began to scratch his head. None of the students really noticed something amiss- they were too riveted on what was Mr. Lancer talking about.

Danny quietly opened the door and stepped inside. The only one who noticed was one Dash Baxter, whose seat was near the door. Thus, he felt a slight rush of cold air. Eyes wide, he slowly turned towards the open door, where the supposed felon was standing. His eyes grew even wider- as big as dinner plates.

He was petrified.

Danny shifted his weight to his other foot.

Dash then lost it. He screamed. Higher that Mr. Lancer had ever heard a girl scream, and he had heard some pretty high squeals in his time. The noise coming from Dash's vocals was something akin a dog whistle.

Once Dash began to scream, all of the other girls in the room turned towards the sound. They saw the "killer" and added their voices to Dash's scream.

Yelling and screaming, most of the class, with the exception of Sam and Tucker, were sprinting out the emergency exit opposite the door Danny was standing in. They ran across the parking lot, causing quite the ruckus.

Danny removed his mask, and, amidst all of their laughing (Mr. Lancer's, Sam's, Tucker's, and Danny's), he turned to them and asked,

"So... Who's going to go get 'em?"

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**Just a note- I didn't know the last names of some of the characters (Kwan, Star, Mikey, etc.) **

**So... Whenever I hear a good story in drivers ed I'll fanfictionalize it for you guys!**

**Thanks for reading!**

**-Flames**


	2. Toilet Paper & Rock Salt

**Sorry for the semi-short one. It was a short story! But, it was also hilarious!**

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**Toilet Paper & Rock Salt**

_(A Fanfictionalized Retelling)_

* * *

Mr. Lancer was sick and tired of waking up in the morning to find his front yard rolled, yet again.

He was also quite embarrassed from the recent pictures posted in the teacher's lounge of him, in his Langston Hughes pajamas, attempting to remove the toilet paper from the trees in his front yard.

Enough that, after a few days of careful observation, he discovered that the perpetrators usually came around 10:30 or 11 o'clock at night.

--_--_--

So, at said time one Wednesday night, he loaded up his father's shotgun with rock salt. He then crept around the back of his house and behind a bush in the front of his house.

Sure enough, three football players pulled up in front of his abode around 10:47 pm. Laughing, they began to toss rolls of toilet tissue over the trees.

Grinning, Mr. Lancer stood up out of the plant and took a few steps forward, saying loudly, "Evening, boys!" They turned, and, seeing him, began to run. Mr. Lancer coked the shotgun, took aim, and shot, three times.

First, Dash Baxter.

Next, Kwan Li.

And finally, another jock whose face Mr. Lancer couldn't see in the dim light. He shot every one of them in the buttocks with rock salt.

He learned later that Mr. Baxter had been wearing a particularly thin pair of jeans. The rock salt had gone through the worn material and embedded into the skin of his posterior. The popular jock had had to be taken to the emergency room.

Mr. Lancer chuckled. He had always prided himself on his aim.

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**Thanks for reading!**

**-Flames**


	3. Ice Cream & Rice

**Today's class had quite a few funny stories. Actually, there's one more for tonight. **

* * *

**Ice Cream & Rice**

_(A Fanfictionalized Retelling)_

_

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_

Opening his mailbox at the end of his usual morning stroll down to said box of mail, Mr. Lancer found a mass of half melted double-chocolate ice cream.

"_Murder on the Orient Express_, not again!" he cried. Sighing, he walked back up his long driveway to get the water hose and some towels. "Every Tuesday and Thursday, double-chocolate ice cream in my mailbox. In my mailbox!"

After cleaning out the metal container, he ran an old, raggedy cloth along the inside and sat down on the tree stump, which was right next to the mailbox, mumbling to himself about stupid kids and their pranks.

He was pretty sure who did it, too; he just hadn't come up with a way to catch them. Being one of the coaches of both the cheerleading squad and the basketball team, he knew how one of the basketball players, Jimmy Coates, always took his girlfriend, Shayla Shimberg, home from both their practices, for they ended around the same time. His car was one of those with the engine in the back of the car, and you could hear it coming from a mile or so away.

Anyways, Mr. Lancer had heard that engine rumbling up the street at night, turning around in the cul-de-sac, then stopping in front of his mailbox to deposit the frozen treat.

He sighed again, thinking that there was really nothing he could do about it now. Rather, he decided to wait.

--_--_--

A few days later, on a Monday afternoon, Mr. Lancer realized that that night was "ice cream night," as he had come to call it. He had invited a student of his, one Danny Fenton, over for dinner and some tutoring, as young Mr. Fenton needed said tutoring.

A little before dinner, he heard the familiar car, creeping up the street.

"Daniel-"

"Danny."

"Danny, can you fire those ectoplasmic blasts of yours with a bang not unlike a gunshot?" asked Mr. Lancer.

"Probably," answered the boy. "Why?"

Mr. Lancer told him his plot. He then said, "Sneak down my driveway, across the road, and into the bush opposite my mailbox. I'll be right behind you."

"Sure, Mr. Lancer," Danny replied, and crept out the front door.

On his own way out, Mr. Lancer grabbed two large handfuls of uncooked rice from the jar in his pantry and followed Danny.

By the time the two of them were safely hidden in the bush, the car had gotten to the mailbox. True to Mr. Lancer's prediction, it was Jimmy and his girlfriend, Shayla driving.

"Hurry," she whispered, "Get the cardboard off and stuff it in!" as Jimmy fumbled with the container of ice cream.

Mr. Lancer nudged Danny, and said ghost boy fired of three cracking ectoblasts into the night sky. A split second later, Mr. Lancer hurled the rice into the open window of the car.

Shayla screamed, "He shot us! He shot us!" As Jimmy whimpered, "I'm bleeding, I'm bleeding!" While touching his face.

Mr. Lancer looked at Danny, one eyebrow raised. Danny shook his head. He could see in the dark, and the boy was not bleeding, that idiot. He was just unbelievably stupid.

They crouched in the bush and chuckled as the troublesome pair zoomed away.

Of course, they never came to his house again.

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**Thanks for reading! **

**Lucky Danny... I wish I could do that...**

**-Flames**


	4. Deflated Tires

**This one's a little weird, but after I imagined Dash and Kwan in this situation, I just had to write this.**

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**Deflated Tires**

_(A Fanfictionalized Retelling)

* * *

_

Coming out of the Casper High basketball game, he being one of the coaches, Mr. Lancer despaired ("_Johnny Tremain!_") at seeing the air let out of the two rear tires of his car.

Sighing, he went back inside the building to get the pump.

--_--_--

After watching the boys at basketball practice for a day or so, he had mostly figured out the two who had played the prank. They were both in his English I class, so he figured out a way to check.

The next day, right after the bell had rung and the class had settled down, Mr. Lancer raised his voice.

"Mr. Baxter," he addressed said teen, "the next time you and Mr. Li let the air out of all four of my tires, you two are in for it."

Dash objected. "Mr. Lancer, we only did but-" holding up two fingers.

Kwan glared at Dash, his entire visage shooting daggers at Dash. "You idiot!" he cried.

"Thank you for fessing up, Mr. Baxter," crowed Mr. Lancer. "Stay in the gym after practice today."

--_--_--

And so they did.

Mr. Lancer stood there, whistle in hand. "I know that you two can't run as long as I can blow this whistle. You're going to run until you throw up. And once you do, you are going to roll in it. And after that, you are going to get a mop and clean it all up."

The boys stood there, looks of disbelief upon their faces.

Dash smirked. "Mr. Lancer, you're not really gonna-"

Mr. Lancer blew the whistle. "Run, boys, and every time I blow this whistle, you are going to stop, touch the ground, and run the other way. Suicides, I believe you call them. Come on, let's go!"

After about half and hour, Dash had to stop and vomit. A few minutes later, Kwan followed suit. They looked up at him.

Mr. Lancer pointed at the vomit and raised and eyebrow. Grimacing, they rolled around in their puke. After Mr. Lancer pointed at the door, they got mops and cleaned up.

And by the end of the whole thing, they never would so much as touch Mr. Lancer's car again.

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**See? Told ya it was a little... gross, I guess. But the essential plot, if not the characters, is part of a true story.**

**Thanks for reading!**

**-Flames**


End file.
